Defiant To The End
by iBayne
Summary: Because, you know, there just aren't enough alternate ending fics out there. This was a way of venting which turned into creative rambling, and thought I might as well throw it into the pile. ME3 During/Post Ending. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

"_You face a difficult choice..." _jeered the celestial voice. Damn right he did... Death, death, or death, and three different flavours of apocalypse.

William Shepard was no stranger to darkness. He had killed, there was no way around that. He had pulled the trigger on countless lives, and his actions had doomed many hundreds more, something that still haunted his sleeping hours. But all of those had been for a _purpose_, he told himself. He couldn't do this – he couldn't bring himself to ruin more people than the Reapers themselves had done...

For the first time in countless months, he stopped, and in a single moment of exhaustion he dropped to his knees, head bowed in weary submission.

"_Choose," _the shimmering child demanded, but Shepard wasn't listening. Images were flitting behind his tightly-shut eyelids – Anderson, bleeding and broken in the chamber below; Liara, gone from his side as Harbinger struck; the Normandy, darting in and out of the maelstrom in the skies over Earth.

"No," he growled, with what little energy seemed to be left.

"_You must choose..." _Catalyst continued.

"Because you say so?" Shepard grunted back. He was met with silence.

"_The cycle ends here. You have the power to choose..."_

"What choice?" he bellowed, finding some inner reserve of energy to vent his anger. "Whatever I choose, we're dead and gone! I won't be a part of that!"

"_Then we will continue," _the child murmured, with insulting serenity. _"And your worlds will burn."_

"Have you not been keeping up with your little 'solution'?" Shepard muttered. "They're already burning – Earth, Thessia, Palaven... If we have to die, we'll die in firelight, not darkness."

"_That isn't your decision to make..."_

"And it's not yours either..."

With that, silence fell throughout the Catalyst's chamber – where were they, Shepard wondered? The Presidium? The Crucible? There was no hint of walls or a barrier between them and the space outside, but somehow the chamber was full of precious oxygen... Muffled echoes came drifting in every now and then, a tiny flare of light signifying each lost ship, every crew snuffed out of existence. At present, he could do nothing but pray the Normandy was still in the fight...

After several minutes – or maybe they were hours – of that interminable silence, Shepard felt, rather than heard, a shift in the space behind him. The Catalyst didn't leave any echo as mundane as a footfall, he merely strode through space, leaving no mark in his wake.

"_So be it," _he echoed, in a sinister tone. _"The cycles will continue... More will die, and their deaths will be on your shoulders..."_

"Why the guilt trips?" Shepard asked – if he was going to bleed out here, he might as well go out with some questions answered. His side was bleeding profusely, as he watched the Catalyst retreat.

"_We owed you the choice..." _Catalyst mused. _"And you shunned it..."_

"No," he replied, shrewdly. "You've been winning this war – our planets are falling, even now our fleets are about to fail... Why not just kill me here and take victory?"

"_We owed you the choice..." _the star-child repeated.

"Bullshit. You're scared."

Shepard had risen slightly now – he was on his knees, but was no longer on all fours. For all the good it did him, the pistol he had acquired was still hanging limply from his bleeding hand. Finally, the Catalyst turned, as if paralysed by his accusation.

"_Why should we be afraid?" _the celestial voice asked. _"We are the solution. We bring enlightenment, perfection... ascendance."_

"And it's coming to an end," Shepard growled.

"_The cycles will never end, you have made sure of that... Millennia have failed to break us, human, why should this cycle be any different?"_

"Not this cycle," he grunted. "But the next, or maybe the one that follows it... Or the one after that..."

"_The cycles will continue," _Catalyst asserted.

"For now," Shepard muttered. "But every cycle gets better – that's right, isn't it? Before us, the protheans came closest to beating you. Now we've – I've – come even closer. You cleanse organic life, but each cycle passes information to the next – the Crucible, the prothean beacons, the artifacts we leave behind... No matter how hard you try, you can't _quite _get rid of us, and ever cycle gets better at fighting you."

"_It will never be enough," _the child almost whispered. For the briefest of moments, though, his form seemed to shift – then again, and again, as if in indecision. Shepard could have sworn he saw the silhouettes of Mordin, Thane, Ashley, and innumerable others whose faces bore no meaning – every victim of the Catalyst's solution, he supposed...

"That's what this is for, isn't it?" he continued. "You're trying to scare me into choosing. I can wipe you out, and take my friends out at the same time-"

"_Friends? You mean the geth synthetics," _Catalyst scowled.

"Or," Shepard persisted, ignoring him, "I take control of you – for however long it lasts – and you get to live. Or I take this 'synthesis' option of yours and do your job for you... I lose friends and allies, or I serve _your _cause. You're a bit too organic for your own good..."

"_We are the ultimate ascendance of life," _Catalyst asserted, with seeming confidence.

"You're still _life_, though," Shepard muttered. "Part-organic, part-synthetic, if we're right, and I suspect we are. And anything even a _little _bit organic has the same flaw – you're scared of death. Why else would you preserve yourselves like this?"

"_The solution puts an end to fear... We escape death and extinction – forever!"_

"Tell that to Sovereign..."

"_Enough!" _the Catalyst echoed, and for the first time, there was a hint of emotion, any emotion, in that voice – a very organic mixture of fear and anger. _"If you will not make your choice, then we will make it for you... The cycle continues. Harbinger!"_

Shepard's blood froze. A loud crash echoed through the space behind them, and as he twisted around he saw the remnants of a turian dreadnought scattering into space, twisted crewmen's bodies scattering out into space amidst fire and debris. Through the wreckage, a glaring purple form was emerging, and six golden eyes were staring through the black void of space. An unearthly growl announced Harbinger's arrival, as he crashed against the side of the Presidium – if this was indeed the Presidium – clawed limbs gripping the walls around them as he loomed over creator and nemesis alike.

"Shepard..." the Reaper leered. His voice was guttural, and it felt as if the very metal around them was trembling and quivering with energy from every syllable. However powerful his voice felt, however, it was no longer terrible, no longer terrifying. There was nothing more he could do to Shepard, nothing more the Reapers could throw at him, and the scars of battle were evident even on mighty Harbinger's form – a jagged line of black ran perilously close to one of his lower eyes, and the crest of his body was marred by a steel scar – the gouge marks where a salvo had torn into his skin.

"_It ends, Harbinger..." _Catalyst mused. _"Shepard is too weak to end this..."_

"As I predicted..." Harbinger growled.

"Enough with the mind games," Shepard sighed. "I don't care what you say – I'm not moving."

"Then you die," his old foe replied, with a vicious note of pleasure.

"Fine by me," the Commander replied, staggering onto one knee. "Just let me die on my feet."

"_Nobility in death," _Catalyst observed, and for a moment Shepard expected him to make some respectful remark. Then, he remembered who he was talking to. _"We have evolved past such things."_

"Yeah..." Shepard muttered. He was well aware of Harbinger's scarlet maw swelling behind him, as a mechanical roar began to fill the air in the chamber. "That's the problem."

He turned, and the scarlet glare filled his eyes. This was it.

"No more games," Harbinger growled, and he wasn't sure whether the Reaper was talking to him, or to Catalyst. Either way, he merely stood, staring at the field of red before him. He chanced one last glance at Catalyst – the ethereal form was still watching from afar.

That was good. If this was Catalyst's last memory of humanity, it should be like this – eyes wide open, head held high, defiant to the last breath.

The swirling scarlet was at fever pitch now, and he could practically see the anticipation in Harbinger's hateful stare. A few more moments... stand strong for a few more moments... the last moments...

A deafening roar filled the air, and Shepard's eyes shut tightly, as he felt a blast pass over him, and toppled to the ground. Above the din came an unearthly screech, a mechanised roar of...was that victory? It sounded more like pain...

Shepard opened his eyes. That was novel in itself. So was his continued existence. So surprising was this, his faculties failed to notice the far more pressing matter – the rush of flames and wind in the vista before them, and the steel eagle diving at Harbinger's back.


	2. Chapter 2

"How's that ya son of a bitch!"

"Enemy still engaged, Jeff..."

"Right, right... Everybody buckle up, this is going to be tight!"

As if to give meaning to Joker's words, a crimson jet sliced through the air beside the Normandy, and Harbinger let out a vicious snarl. Flames billowed from one of the firing chambers beneath his eyes, and jagged metal ran like scars in all directions, but he was still very much in the fight.

"EDI, give me something!" Joker yelled, desperately twisting the Normandy around to avoid another shot. "Anything!" he yelled again.

"Scans confirmed," she mused, from the seat beside him. "Commander Shepard is on the Presidium... vital signs are dropping, though..."

"Then we'd best make this quick!" the pilot muttered, sliding a hand over the console and sending the Normandy veering to the right. "Normandy to Hackett, we've got a situation! It's Shepard!"

"What?" the Admiral replied, through the static of the radio. "Normandy, please repeat."

"We've found Shepard!" Joker roared at the console, as another shot narrowly missed their wings. "He's on the Presidium, we just drew Harbinger off but the bastard's after us now! We need support!"

"Confirm that," Hackett murmured, with a hint of urgency. "Sword, we have confirmed ID on Shepard, Project Crucible is back on! All available ships, direct fire towards the Citadel!"

Almost instantly, a bevy of shots began racing towards the Normandy – Joker veered upwards, and a wall of shells and missiles crashed towards Harbinger, marring him with flames and ugly scars.

"Harbinger's mass effect core is depleted from the landing," EDI informed him, serene as ever. "We have a window."

"Some good that is if we're dead!" he cried, swinging the Normandy around again to avoid another of Harbinger's desperate blasts. Much to his frustration, he now found himself amidst a squadron of turian ships, and with Alliance fighters zipping past above them, they had little room to manoeuvre. Slowly, ominously, Harbinger's one working scarlet orb began to ignite, until the red glow was cast across every ship in the vicinity. The whirring cry was rising, and then –

"Everest to Normandy, get the hell out of our way!" the emphatic cry filled the cockpit amidst a mess of radio static, and somewhere off to the right, Joker spotted the titanic form approaching. The SSV Everest was a huge ship, not to mention symbolic, the very first dreadnought the Alliance had produced. Her hull was trailing smoke and flame, trophies from the surrounding battle, but the most prominent feature, her gun, was still intact and practically glistened in the light of the sun. The huge barrel was swinging around, and ever as Harbinger's cry reached its climax, he could see the glint of light beginning at the base of the Everest's gun.

"Normandy," the ship's captain breathed, through a ragged bout of coughing, and the crackle of flames in the background. "Get out of the way..."

"Nowhere to go!" Joker cried, in frustration, then clawed at the console. The Normandy swung right, and for a moment everything went dark, before a juddering shockwave rocked the cockpit. Yells rang out over the radio, and Joker toppled out of his seat – the Normandy had crashed against one of the turian frigates, and both were spinning away, but the Everest's lane was clear...

A white flash filled the air, rushing against a vivid burst of scarlet, until the two met head on, and blinded the onlookers. There was yet another screech, a cataclysmic _bang_, and the light began to fade.Looking up, Moreau was aghast – the Everest was torn and battered, one of her wings had been ripped off, and scars ran the length of her gun barrel. To the left, however, Harbinger had been punctured by the dreadnought's shot – Joker was eerily reminded of Rannoch, as he saw the gaping hole where the Reaper's charging weapon had once rested. Two of his eyes had been extinguished, and he gave a mournful cry as he barrelled forward. The Everest too was rushing onwards, on a collision course.

"Everest, watch your approach!" he yelled desperately into the radio, clambering back into his seat – adrenaline was pounding furiously in his head, and something felt broken. Static answered his call. No reply. A moment later, as the Normandy and the turian frigates all scattered desperately to safety, the two hulking forms smashed together, and a mass of rending metal silently filled their view.

"Everest?" Joker murmured, but he already knew he would receive more silence in reply. The Everest was a mangled wreck, venting eezo as she drifted away – they could take some satisfaction, however, in Harbinger's ruined corpse, impaled on her gun, moaning forlornly in his last moments, before those golden eyes finally died.

"Normandy," the radio crackled, as Hackett's voice filled the cockpit. "Normandy, come in. I saw fireworks, what happened?"

"The Everest's down, sir..." Joker murmured, sadly. "But she took Harbinger with her."

"Damn it..." Hackett scowled. "But Shepard's got his window. We just need to hold them back..." There was a moment's indecision, before Hackett spoke again, this time broadcasting to the fleet at large. "Shield! All forward! Give 'em hell!"

With a tired groan, the Normandy span around, as Joker set it on the course it had followed so many times before. Destination Shepard.


	3. Chapter 3

Silence filled the Crucible chamber. Catalyst was staring, emotionless once more, at Harbinger's twisted remnants. Shepard, however, was staring not at Harbinger, not at the broken Everest, but at the limping figure now swooping down towards them. The Normandy was coming, and that set a fanfare racing in his mind, not to mention a burst of adrenaline coursing in his veins. He turned, raising his pistol to Catalyst – it could do nothing, but it _felt _good. And then, quite suddenly, the little star-child's form had changed. Shepard's own face was staring back, the same blunt jaw, the same swept hair, everything but the eyes – the eyes were cold, dead, emotionless...

"_You cannot kill me, Shepard," _Catalyst mocked.

"I can kill _them_," he scowled, nodding to the battle outside. "We might not kill them all, but we'll make it easier for the next cycle..."

"_Illogical," _his own phantom replied. _"We offer you immortality, and you throw it away for pride and certain death..."_

"There's nothing 'certain' about it," Shepard growled. "That was your mistake – organics aren't predictable, they can't be _controlled_..."

"_Our thralls say otherwise..."_

"Better dead than husks like them..."

"_We shall see..."_

"No," Shepard snapped, anger finally boiling over – every ounce of hatred, every ounce of vengeful aching in his soul... "You're done! I've got nothing more to say to you!"

Silence filled the air, as Catalyst, still wearing Shepard's body, retreated along the platform, once again uttering no footfalls on the metal floor.

"No, wait..." the Commander muttered, reconsidering.

"_A change of heart so quickly?" _Catalyst mused. _"You're easier to break than I imagined..."_

"Oh, it's not a change of heart," Shepard scowled. "But I _have_ got one more thing to say to you, before you disappear back to where you came from... Run."

"_Run?" _Catalyst murmured, as if struggling to believe the mere mortal's arrogance.

"Run," the 'mere mortal' repeated. "And tell your Reapers to do the same – run like hell, because we're coming for them!"

"_Hmm..."_

With that little, cryptic sigh, Catalyst shimmered and departed, and Shepard was quite alone. The adrenaline faltered – his foe was gone, he could rest, but rest brought pain and the reminder of just how bad his injuries were. His crimson blood was still falling to the floor with quiet dripping sounds...

Moments later, the drips were lost amongst the altogether louder sound of engines. Shepard span around, and the fanfares began again – the Normandy hovered opposite to the great Crucible beam, filling the pristine air of Catalyst's chamber with smoke and dust and noise. As Shepard watched, dropping his pistol to the floor wearily, the faithful steed's cargo ramp slid open with a mechanical whirr, and three rifles clicked into place, aiming out as if ready to shoot anything that moved. The three shooters, however, found no targets, and Shepard almost laughed at the sight of them, aiming into thin air. Garrus, Kaidan, Javik – wait, Javik? The Prothean had been with him at the Conduit, had charged into hell with him, had taken the full force of Harbinger's attack! Shepard had assumed he was dead... But if Javik was alive, maybe _she _was too...

His energy renewed ever-so-slightly, Shepard began to stagger towards the ramp, as his three comrades ran down to help him, still covering every angle with their rifles as if invisible enemies abounded. Half-way to the ship, he stumbled, and dropped to one knee, then picked himself up and kept going.

"Shepard!" Garrus roared, as the three men's silence finally broke. "You alright?"

"I..." Shepard stammered, "Yeah, I..." He clutched a hand to his bleeding side, as Garrus dropped his rifle and ran to the Commander, looping one arm under his shoulder and propping him up.

"Where's Anderson?" Kaidan called, and for a moment Shepard didn't have the heart to tell him.

"Gone..." he muttered, finally. "Back there... the path's sealed..."

Kaidan swore, and ran past the limping figures of Shepard and Garrus, as Javik continued to survey the scene around them, aiming around with mechanical efficiency. Shepard was painfully aware of the blurring edges of his vision, of the pulsing sensation in his head as every heartbeat pumped more blood out of his wound. Somewhere behind them, Kaidan's footsteps returned, clattering loudly as he sprinted back towards them. The way to Anderson, it seemed, was indeed blocked. That sent another painful burst through his brain...

"Illusive Man's gone too," he stammered, feeling he really should tell _someone_ before he died. Garrus' face creased with shock at that news – or as much as a turian's plated face _could _crease. "Tell Hackett... couldn't use the Crucible... Reaper trap... he needs to destroy this place..."

"Easy now, Shepard," Garrus murmured. "You can tell him yourself..."

Shepard nodded, feebly. "I'll hold you to that... we did it, Garrus."

"Yeah..." Garrus smiled. "We did."

With those words still ringing in his ears, Shepard felt the void pressing at his mind, and gravity took over. He slumped forwards, dragging Garrus with him, and crumpled to the ground on the Normandy's cargo ramp.


	4. Chapter 4

"Orizaba, move to position. Logan, follow us in. Shield's moving up, we just need time..."

As the two dreadnoughts – as far as he was aware, the last two left in the Alliance fleet, the flagships of the Fifth and Third fleets – swung into position, Admiral Steven Hackett was surveying the scene from the Orizaba's bridge. Before him was a monumental field of debris and fire, and the battle was still raging amidst it all. Sword, mostly made up of human and turian ships, was still fighting valiantly. At least half of its ships had been destroyed, maybe more. Behind them, Shield was moving in – quarians, geth, salarians... their fleets were not quite as formidable as those that had launched the first assault, but their weight of numbers threatened to turn the tide – already, Reaper corpses littered the orbital battlefield in equal measure to the wreckage of the coalition's fleet.

"Status report," he barked. "Shield? Hammer?"

"This is the Tonbay," replied a filtered quarian voice – Hackett could practically hear the mask. "Shield has broken away from the Crucible. Repeat, we are abandoning the perimeter and engaging the enemy."

"This is Hammer!" a gravelly voice roared, to a soundtrack of static. "We're pushing them back, drowning the bastards in the river! FOR TUCHANKA!" he yelled, and to Hackett it sounded very much like his transmission had ended with a flurry of shotgun fire.

"Normandy," Hackett called again, anxiously. "Normandy, give me some news. We need that Crucible!"

"The Crucible failed," came Moreau's familiar voice, with an apprehensive note.

"WHAT?"

"We got Shepard, but the Crucible is not an option."

"Why the hell not?" Hackett roared, with an unusual tone of anger.

"Admiral," came the rough voice of the turian – Vakarian. "I couldn't quite make sense of it, but Shepard was muttering a message to you – the Crucible is a Reaper trap. Destroy it."

"I..." the Admiral was lost for words. Everything they had worked for was gone... "What the hell do we do now?"

"We fight," Joker interjected, much to Hackett's surprise. "Too late to back down now..."

"Right," Vakarian muttered.

"Right," Hackett echoed, nodding to himself. "All ships, this is Admiral Hackett. The Crucible is a no-go – this one's down to us. All ships... all ships forward."

Utter silence followed the command. Something in his voice must have belied his desperation, because no-one questioned the order. Instead, the ships swarming around them proceeded onwards with renewed vigour, and the volleys of fire crashing towards the Citadel increased in intensity. Then, as an afterthought, he leant close to the transmitter, and muttered a slightly more reserved request – he wasn't quite sure how the fleet would take this one.

"Shield, I need a sabotage team."

"Geth platforms are available for hacking and infiltration," replied a mechanical voice – the geth still sent shivers down Hackett's spine, allies or not. Nonetheless, he had to admit they were ideal for this job...

"Perfect," the Admiral nodded to himself. "Dispatch a team to the Crucible – lower the shields around the core."

"Confirmed," the geth croaked, in monotone assent. "Estimated time to completion... six minutes."

"Orizaba, new orders," Hackett muttered. "About turn, bearing one-thirty. Lock weapons on the Crucible, target the power core. Logan, move up, cover our flank."

As the Orizaba span once more, Hackett could only stare in disbelief at the Crucible – the weapon they had spent so long building had, like the Citadel, like the relays, been a tool for the Reapers... It was one last kick in the teeth from a vicious and morale-sapping enemy. They could change that, though. One last symbolic gesture of defiance. Provided Shepard was right...

What if he wasn't, though? What if he was indoctrinated? What if they were about to destroy their only chance of victory? Rubbing his brow, Hackett tried to banish these thoughts from his mind. Either way, it was too late to send a team to fire the damn thing, and doubting Shepard never did anyone any good...

"Units in position," the geth stated, and Hackett could see two or three of their smaller ships, insect-like in appearance, hovering beside the bulbous sphere that housed the Crucible's power core.

"Get it done," he muttered, uselessly – they were the geth, they were probably _already _getting it done. Sure enough, as he peered closer, a few minute forms flitted across the gap between the ships and the Crucible, landing on the metal surface and beginning their work.

"Reapers pushing on the right!" yelled a panicked voice, interrupting his reverie. "They're breaking out of the battle line! Cruisers, hit them in the tail, bombers, hammer the flank!"

Sure enough, as he looked to the left, Hackett saw a great shift in the obsidian forms ahead – at least two dozen capital ships and several smaller destroyers had surged through their lines with no regard to casualties, and had torn a turian cruiser in half. The other two turian ships in the formation were sweeping around, and the tell-tale blue glow of Thanix cannons was sweeping over both their gun batteries. Behind them, a squadron of falcon-like bombers was pushing into the void the Reapers had left, jousting against the few ships left behind.

"Catch their bearing," he barked.

"Heading straight for the Crucible!" the turian replied. As he spoke, both ships sent pale-blue shots hurtling at the Reapers' rear – a destroyer took both hits, and dropped from the formation, spouting flame.

"Hold your fire!" Hackett snapped, as the most marvellous of hare-brained plans came into his mind...

"What?" the turian captain exclaimed.

"Just trust me..." the Admiral said, praying he wasn't about to embarrass himself. "Demo team, how long-"

"Two minutes to completion. However, the Old Machines are closing in..."

"Then make it quick."

Sure enough, the geth fell into silence, and the first signs of progress appeared on the Crucible orb. A vague shimmer passed over the superstructure, and Hackett was sure the shields had just vanished under geth interference. After another minute, a curved strip of steel began to glow at the edges, and the geth ships swept aside – to the Admiral's disbelief, a whole panel of the Crucible's hull plating was now floating free, guided by the accompanying geth ships. It was such a strange sight, after all their efforts to _secure _the Crucible, that he almost forgot about the approaching Reapers. Forgot, that was, until one of the geth ships exploded in a burst of steel and plasma.

"We are under attack!" came the mechanical voice. "Ensure data backup channels, continue removal."

"Logan, follow our aim," Hackett cried. "Cruisers, you too!"

"What the hell are you doing, human?" the turian captain cried – despite his protests, he still brought his ships into line with the Orizaba, and they were joined by another squadron, three salarian cruisers, all sporting Thanix cannons like the turians.

"Just wait..." the Admiral assured them, as he watched the Reapers swarm toward the Crucible – the first to reach it tore through one of the two remaining geth ships, and sent the hull segment spinning away to reveal the glowing, pulsating core behind it. "Power up all weapons!" Hackett continued, and the comms system was filled by a chorus of whirring and humming.

Three of the Reapers were now swarming over the Crucible, giving off little ripples and waves as they adjusted mass effect fields to land on the tremendous structure. The rest quickly followed them, landing at various points along the Crucible, but not using their weapons – the only shot fired was aimed at the tail of the last geth ship, obliterating it. To all of the assembled onlookers, it very appeared as if the Reapers were putting their bodies over the Crucible's hub – they couldn't be _protecting _it, surely? But then, if Shepard was right, if they _were _using the Crucible themselves...

In those few moments, he became far more sure of himself than at any point prior in the battle. With a quick glance to the targeting computer – the attending officer gave him a thumbs-up, and the display showed a glowing beacon over the exposed power core – he leant close to the transmitter, and gave his orders.

"Fire."

With that single word, the ships assembled around the Orizaba unleashed hell. Five Thanix cannons and two heavy bombard guns unleashed their full payloads – the blue Thanix shots raced on ahead, and as one Reaper capital ship tried to move in front of the chink in the Crucible's armour, it was battered by all five, and seemed to crumple inwards, pock-marked by livid blue scars. Behind the Thanix rounds came the two pale thunderbolts from the Logan and the Orizaba – the Logan's smashed into the already crippled Reaper, reducing it to scrap. A moment later, the Orizaba's followed close behind, flitting through the debris and vanishing amidst the swirling vortex of the Crucible's power core.

For a few tense moments, every pair of eyes on every ship on the Orizaba stared at the silent, unresponsive Crucible. And then... the world exploded.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far, guys, it's always nice to hear some feedback. **

**NeoDeus: Yes, I am going to keep at this, it's rather fun to write...**

The blast from the Crucible was truly cataclysmic. Watching on from the Normandy's cockpit, Garrus let out a low whistle. The fireball that surrounded their superweapon was an intense, white-hot mass that tore through the swarm of Reapers around it – not a single one was left intact when the flames finally subsided, just a huge swathe of obsidian and steel, scrapped remnants of the Reapers and the Crucible mingling together as a few secondary explosions rocked what was left of the superstructure, and flames began to tear dangerously along the Citadel arms.

"Orizaba, this is Normandy... Hackett, are you there?" Joker asked, sounding rather panicked. The ships that had fired on the Crucible had been on the very edge of the blast, and the flames had swept amongst them.

"We're in one piece," Hackett muttered, between coughs, and Joker's shoulders sagged visibly in relief. "Power systems are fried, and... one of the salarians ships is dust. But we're okay... I'm still not sure how that actually _worked_."

"The Reapers had to compromise their mass effect fields to land on the Crucible," EDI surmised, from the co-pilot's seat. "Similar to the effect of a planetary descent... Combined with the sheer amount of energy contained within the Crucible's core, the blast was easily sufficient to eliminate them."

"Thank God..." Hackett sighed. "But this isn't over yet. We're limping, but we'll get back in the fight."

"Copy that," Joker muttered. "Give us a target, Admiral, we'll join in..."

"Negative." Everyone in the cockpit started with surprise at that. "I understand Shepard is wounded?"

"Critical," EDI corrected.

"Then get him out of the system. I just had to destroy our biggest asset – I want to ask that son of a bitch why when this is all over..."

"Alright," Joker nodded, reluctantly – he didn't like the tone of anger in Hackett's voice, not when it was directed at Shepard. "Where do we go from here?"

"Anywhere there aren't Reapers," the Admiral replied, and Garrus watched EDI and Joker share a knowing look, as Hackett faded to static.

"Where are we going?" Garrus asked, as Joker set the Normandy lurching away from Earth.

"The only place the Reapers don't need," the pilot replied. "EDI, set course for Widow..."


	6. Chapter 6

"How is he, Doctor?" came the faded words. His sight was darkened, he was drifting away, but those nagging little noises just wouldn't let him rest...

"Bad," said the second voice. Female. Well spoken. 'Doctor' was a clue even his addled mind could grasp – Chakwas. That probably meant he was in the med bay.

"What do you mean bad?" the second voice interjected. Male. Rather hoarse. Kaidan, maybe? Garrus? "Bad, or _bad?_"

"_Bad_," the doctor sighed. "Multiple bullet wounds, fourty percent burns, and I'm pretty sure his back's broken. His heart's approaching failure, he lost a lot of blood before you reached him..."

"How much blood?"

"Kaidan, I know that look, and the answer's no." So it was Kaidan, then...

"What, you're just going to stand back and do nothing?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, Lieutenant!" Chakwas hissed, with a note of anger Shepard had never really heard in her voice before.

"Why the hell not? You're letting Shepard die!" Kaidan roared back, equally furious.

"You _know _it's not that simple! There's no guarantee it would even work!"

"It might buy him some time. Do it."

"No anaesthetic, Lieutenant."

"I don't care, for the last time, _do it_."

"I... this could _kill _you, Kaidan," Chakwas moaned. "I've got no way of monitoring it until you collapse from shock..."

"If we try it, I _could_ die," Kaidan muttered. "If we don't, Shepard _will _die. Get an IV, and do it."

The voices fell silent once more, but noises were still drifting in and out of the black void Shepard occupied, all set against the ever-present hum of the Normandy. The clattering of people moving around and rummaging through cabinets came into earshot – a minute or so later, he heard a pained grunt, shortly followed by a stabbing sensation in his own arm, numbed though it was. Dull instinct, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, told him to open his eyes and search for the source of the pain, but his eyelids were too weary, and refused to co-operate.

"Are you alright?" Chakwas murmured, cautiously.

"Fine," Kaidan grunted – he was closer now, maybe only a foot or two from Shepard. "Is it working?"

"His blood pressure's rising... It might force his heart to work..."

"Can it do that?

"It certainly seems to be. The pressure of blood forces circulation by simple physics. In theory..."

"_In theory?_ What about in reality, Doctor?"

"In reality..." Chakwas sighed. "His heart rate is rising, so is his blood pressure. That's fine for now, but if the wound re-opens, it just means he'll lose blood even more quickly. Besides which, _you_ can't last forever..."

"I can last long enough."

"Long enough for what? At best, this is a delaying action, Kaidan, it won't cure him..."

"Then how _do _we cure him?"

"I don't know, damn it!" The outburst seemed surprising, not only to Shepard in his unconscious observation, but to Kaidan too – there was a sharp intake of breath from the lieutenant, at Shepard's side.

"Then talk me through it, a second opinion never hurts."

"You're not a doctor, Kaidan..."

"Well, the only other doctor on this ship is in the next bed, unconscious, so you'll have to make do with me. How is she, anyway?"

_She?_ Did he mean...?

"Critical... She took a hell of a beating down there, but Javik carried her out."

"You're joking."

"I know, I know... but it's true, according to Garrus. He pulled her away from the Conduit and stood his ground until we reached them..."

The Conduit? Javik? Then that could only be...

"Damn it," Kaidan cursed. "It's bad enough losing Shepard, but Liara, too?"

_Bang. _With a brilliant white flash, light flooded into Shepard's eyes, and the subtle hum of the Normandy became an echoing din in his ears. All five beautiful senses burst into life, and his head span with the effort of comprehending it all. Before he quite regained control of his limbs, he felt himself falling – his head shook with pain from a blunt impact, and a loud cry escaped someone's lips, not his own.

As he looked up, he was astounded to see the air shimmering blue – in his confusion, he had begun to ripple with biotics. His armour, reduced to a blackened mess in the battle, was gone, leaving him stripped to the waist, with the trousers of his uniform covering his modesty. That, however, was the least of his concerns, as he grabbed the side of the bed and tried to drag himself upright. He had toppled out of bed, dragging some piece of machinery at his bedside with him, and Chakwas was staring at him apprehensively – he only began to realise why as he felt the sensation of warm, fresh blood trickling down his arm. Looking down, he saw a half-buried needle sticking out of his elbow, snapped clean in two. It was an image that only made sense once he looked up to see Kaidan, teeth gritted, with the remains of an IV cord – and another needle – hanging out of his own arm, dripping blood.

"What the..." was about all he could manage to mutter, slurring the words as he did.

"Hold still, Commander," Chakwas murmured, cautiously advancing on him. On the other side of the bed, Kaidan raised a biotically-shimmering hand, as if wondering whether to knock Shepard out again. While he was distracted with Kaidan – events were moving rather too quickly for him to keep track of _two _people – Chakwas advanced on him, and unceremoniously ripped the severed needle from his arm, before pressing a piece of cloth against it to stem the bleeding.

"What were you doing?" Shepard mumbled, dazedly.

"Blood transfusion," Kaidan grunted. "It worked, didn't it?"

"I..."

"Easy, Commander," Chakwas said, soothingly. "Maybe you should lie down, you've had quite the ordeal..."

"Where..." the Commander stammered, in reply. "Where's... argh, where's...?"

Finally, spinning around, he found what he was looking for. Liara was lying, quite still, in the bed next to his, eyes tight shut, breathing shallow. At the sight of her, his legs gave up, and he crumpled to his knees. Chakwas made some forlorn attempt to pull him upright, but it was a pitiful effort from the outset. Only when Kaidan paced over to help did they manage to drag him onto the bed and lay him down – even then, his eyes were still fixed on Liara.

"Can you give him a sedative, Doctor?" Kaidan muttered, disregarding the fact that Shepard could _hear _them.

"No... it could stop his heart," Chakwas replied, also ignoring him, and ensuring his heart would beat all the more quickly for fear of stopping. "I hate to say it, but the stress is keeping him conscious. Keep an eye on him, I need to check on Liara..."

Shepard's eyes still didn't leave Liara's bed, as Chakwas crouched over her, checking the various readouts and charts on her omni-tool. After a moment, Kaidan dragged a chair between the two beds, rather deliberately blocking his view.

"She'll be fine, Commander," he whispered.

"I could see that myself, if you'd get out of the way," Shepard grunted.

"And here I thought you'd have cheered up a bit..." Kaidan groaned.

"Cheered up?" the Commander spluttered, feeling a fresh vein of anger ripple through his brain. "Why the hell should I cheer up? Liara's dying in the next bed, I'm dying in this one, and to top it all off, I don't know whether we won or lost, and it's all my fault!"

By the time he finished, he was panting rather heavily, and the edges of his vision were blurred. Kaidan, however, was smiling gently, and it was irritating beyond words.

"There it is," the lieutenant murmured. "That needed saying, didn't it Commander?"

"Sod off," Shepard snapped.

"If you're finished," he replied, ignoring the curses altogether. "I'll skip right to the bit where I prove you wrong. First, Liara's not dying, not on our watch. And neither are you..."

"And Earth?"

"We don't know yet," Alenko admitted. "But whatever happened on the Citadel, you did the right thing."

"Kaidan, since when did you get _this _naïve?"

"Shut up and listen, Commander."

The retort was strange, unprecedented, even. In all the time he'd known Kaidan, Shepard had only known him to lose his temper twice – after Virmire, and Horizon. It was such a surprise that Shepard found himself temporarily mute, and Dr Chakwas peered over at the two of them with a look of concern.

"The turians, the krogan, the asari, salarians, quarians, geth, hanar, drell, elcor, volus, batarians..." Kaidan recited. "They all followed your lead, Commander, why do you think that is?"

"Necessity and loyalty."

"_Trust_. Following you to Earth was one thing, but giving you the Crucible? It was a complete unknown, every prediction we had said it was massively destructive, hell, it could have wiped out the whole system – you were the only person the galaxy trusted enough to make that decision."

"Yeah? Well the galaxy should have trusted someone else."

"Get over yourself, Shepard! You don't even know whether we won or lost!"

"Alright," Shepard muttered, somewhat randomly.

"Alright what?" Kaidan replied, eyebrow raised quizzically.

"_Alright_, I'm going to find out," the Commander nodded. With that, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and got shakily to his feet. Almost instantly, his knees buckled, but he kept himself upright, barely.

"Shepard, get back to bed," the lieutenant sighed, wearily.

"No, no, you're right, I should at least get my facts right before I start moaning about the end of the world!" Shepard yelled, staggering towards the med bay door. As he left, he heard Kaidan turn to Dr Chakwas, and with an exasperated sigh, mutter:

"Great. Three years of being a selfless hero, and _now _he chooses to be an ass."


	7. Chapter 7

"Shepard!"

"WHAT?"

As Kaidan darted into the elevator in Shepard's wake, the Commander truly felt like punching him, but for the fact that he'd probably fall over from doing it. He was already leaning heavily on the side of the elevator, and by the time they reached the CIC, he was in too much pain even to scowl at Alenko.

"Come on, Commander," Kaidan murmured, as the doors slid open to reveal the CIC. "You need to get back to the med bay, you're hurt..."

"I need to do this, Kaidan," Shepard muttered, not even bothering to hide the worry in his voice. "It's not about some silly argument, not really... I need... I need to know..."

"...whether you did the right thing," the other man concluded.

Shepard nodded. He felt pitiful, almost doubled over with pain, but if he'd staggered this far, he could reached the cockpit.

"Come on then," Kaidan sighed, reluctantly looping his arm around Shepard's shoulders and helping him stumble out of the elevator. "But if Chakwas asks, I was totally against this."

Together, they moved slowly out across the CIC – as they passed the galaxy map, Traynor shot them a worried glance, but evidently decided to keep her questions to herself. While Kaidan half-supported, half-dragged him along the deck, Shepard was peering at the seats arrayed around the CIC – particularly the empty ones.

"There's crew missing," he said, sadly. "A lot of crew."

"They're not dead, Commander," Kaidan reassured him. "The Normandy wasn't in the fight long enough to take casualties... well, excluding the marines... Most of the crew went down to help in engineering once we left Earth."

"And the marines?" Shepard asked, backtracking.

"We don't know," the lieutenant admitted. "Last we heard of them was from James, at the FOB."

"He's still out there?"

"Everyone's accounted for, except him..."

There was a pregnant pause at that. Before either of them could think of anything new to say, they reached the cockpit, and staggered in.

To say the cockpit's occupants were surprised was an understatement. Granted, EDI looked unphased, as ever, but Joker almost fell out of his seat, and Garrus, leaning against the wall behind him, actually _did _lose his balance and stumble across the cockpit.

"Shepard..." the turian murmured, dazedly, as he straightened up.

"Garrus," he grunted back. Then, turning to Joker, he added, "What's the news? From Earth, I mean?"

"We haven't heard anything since we left," Joker replied, quickly recovering from his surprise.

"Okay, what did you hear _before _you left?" Shepard persisted, anxiously.

"I... not much..."

"Just tell me!"

Joker looked taken aback at the outburst, just as Kaidan had before, but he quickly shook it off – perhaps Kaidan had made some explanatory gesture behind his back, it didn't matter.

"Hackett destroyed the Crucible, just like you said. Took a couple dozen Reapers with it. When we left, Shield and Sword were pushing the Reapers back."

"And Hammer?"

"Well, Wrex sounded like he was having fun... He was drowning husks in the Thames."

"So... it's going good, then? You think it's good, you think the chances are good?" Shepard stammered, becoming rather jittery. The look of worry was back on Joker's face.

"Are you alright, Commander?" the pilot inquired.

"Commander, you'd best get back to the med bay," Kaidan interjected, before Shepard could answer. "It's alright... everything's alright, now get some rest..."

"Yeah... rest," Shepard nodded, absent-mindedly. Relief was flooding his mind, but it carried with it a thousand new questions, and frankly his brain was struggling to cope. For the first time since waking up, he really began to notice the aching in his bones, the pulsing in his head, and the burning sensation in his flank. He almost dropped to his knees again, but just about managed to stay upright on Kaidan's shoulder. Without warning, he felt someone else grab his other arm, and looked across to see Garrus smiling grimly at him.

"Come on, Commander," the turian sighed. "Get some rest, and we'll take care of the galaxy. Believe it or not, it can manage without you for a few hours..."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: One downside to writing these, I now have a dozen other ideas for ME fics... I might have to work of some of them soon, if only to get them out of my head.**

**badkidoh: In summary, three good chapters. Thanks :)**

Five whole hours after Shepard returned to the med bay, the Commander was sleeping fitfully in the med bay. Having been to check on him a few times, Garrus had come to the conclusion that he wasn't to be disturbed, and had let him be. Now, up in the cockpit, he was watching the first trickle of ships coming in from Sol.

"Looks like they're mostly Alliance," Joker said, sadly, as he watched a few Alliance fighters limp through the relay. Hackett, it seemed, had caught on to Widow's status as a safe haven. "I guess..."

"The turians took the brunt of it," Garrus nodded.

"Alternatively," EDI chipped in, "Admiral Hackett could just be sending the wounded to safety."

"Thanks, EDI, but it's alright," he muttered. "We wouldn't have it any other way. Turians are the first into the fight, and the last out..."

"This is SSV Normandy," Joker called into the radio, hailing no-one in particular. "Can anyone give me an update? What's the status on Sol?"

Garrus was clenching his teeth as they waited for a reply. As far as he could see, there were two possible answers – either Earth was won, and these men were limping home with news of victory, or the battle had been lost, and this was all that was left of their coalition.

"Normandy, we've got an update for you," came a static-filled voice, from one of the human fighters. "We kicked ass!"

There was silence in the cockpit. Then, somewhere in the CIC, cheers exploded into the air – Joker had left the speakers on, broadcasting the message to the rest of the ship. Before he quite knew it, Garrus was joining in, as was Joker, both of them roaring at the top of their lungs in sheer relief.

"OORAH!" Joker yelled, in a fit of excitement.

Quickly, however, Garrus' mind returned, as usual, to business. If the battle was concluded, Hackett would be expecting a debrief... and Shepard was in no state to give him one. He turned on his heel, and began to stride out of the cockpit.

"Where are you going?" Joker called after him.

"War Room," he muttered. "I need to speak to Hackett."

With that, he started walking again, sweeping out of the cockpit and across the CIC. He nodded briefly to Traynor as he walked past her, and through the door to the War Room. The checkpoint was unmanned – Westmoreland and Campbell had gone to Earth with the other marines – so he merely stepped through the scanner, ignored the quiet, almost pathetic alarm it triggered, and kept on walking. The War Room too was abandoned – the great holographic display of the Crucible had disappeared, leaving the room illuminated only by the scarlet emergency lighting, and all of the attending marines were gone, whether they were dead or alive he didn't know. Finally, after what seemed to be a _very _long walk, he reached the quantum entanglement... things. Tapping away at the centre display, he was greeted by... nothing, silence. After a minute, however, Hackett apparently got the message, and a shimmering blue hologram of the Admiral appeared before him.

"Vakarian," he murmured, apparently surprised.

"Admiral. The first ships are reaching Widow now," Garrus said, matter-of-factly. "We heard the news was good?"

"As good as it could be, given the circumstances. The Reaper fleet is in ruins, but then again, so is ours."

"Is it really that bad?" the turian asked, rather reluctant to hear the answer.

"Turian fleets report an eighty percent loss" – that news stung – "the Alliance reports sixty percent, the asari fifty, and that's just Sword. Shield escaped the worst of it, but the salarians are reporting a third of their ships destroyed, and the quarians just under a quarter, including several liveships. Hell, even the geth – they lost three quarters of their ships, not that it seems to matter, 'software redundancy' or something like that..."

"What about Hammer, sir?"

"Even worse. Ninety percent or more KIA. The only Hammer ground forces left fighting are the krogan and a few N7 teams. Scary thing is, they're _winning_."

"Winning with ninety percent casualties? Even I'd call that pointless, and I'm a turian. Speaking of which... I have to ask..."

"The Primarch?"

"How did you know?"

"Just a guess... Primarch Victus is safe. His ship was damaged, but he's alive."

"And the other leaders? We'll need them in the next few weeks..."

"Well... Urdnot Wrex is still fighting, down on Earth. He's lasted this long, I daresay he can hold out a bit longer. The quarian admirals are all accounted for, apart from Tali'Zorah..."

"She's here," Garrus interjected, suppressing a grin. "She was fighting with me when the Normandy picked us up."

"I'll pass on the news, the quarians will be pleased to hear that... Now, where we? Ah, the leadership... Well, the geth don't _have _leadership as such, so that's a moot point, same goes for the asari e-democracy – as long as a few matriarchs made it out, they'll be fine for leaders. Dalatrass Linron never went into battle, she's still on Sur'Kesh..."

"What about the smaller contingents? Batarians, volus, elcor, hanar?"

"I've yet to check in with the elcor and hanar... Volus leadership was with the turian fleet, not their bombers, all accounts would suggest they're safe and with Primarch Victus. Balak and the batarians were wiped out in the first wave..."

"Damn..."

"You're mourning that bastard?"

"The batarians chose to stand with us... that's something, at least."

"I suppose you're right... How's Shepard? I still need that debrief, Vakarian."

"It'll have to wait. Shepard's injuries were extensive; he can barely walk, let alone face an inquisition. And if you start laying into him for the Crucible business, he might just give up and jump out of an airlock," Garrus muttered, his voice growing slightly more fierce as he went on.

"Steady on, Vakarian," Hackett scowled, looking slightly affronted. "I think I've got a right to know why we couldn't use the Crucible, why all those men had to die."

"That you do," the turian replied, taking on a more conciliatory tone. "But Shepard doesn't know the answers any more than you do, he's still beating himself up over the whole thing... The last thing he needs right now is you turning on him."

"Noted, Vakarian. You do realise, though, a summit will have to go ahead, with or without him?"

"I guessed as much..."

"It's happening as soon as we can gather the leaders together. On board the Destiny Ascension."

"She survived the battle?"

"Yeah... A perfect symbol, really. As soon as we can get Wrex to leave the battle, we'll have everyone we need... except Shepard. We need the Normandy represented... Vakarian."

"Was that a hint, Admiral?"

"Damn right it was. Turian special envoy? You should be there regardless... And it'd help to have someone on Shepard's side. Whatever you think, I don't want him to take the blame for this one, not after what he did to him for Aratoht. Destiny Ascension, Vakarian. One hour."

Hackett faded to darkness, and Garrus took a weary step back. Even with the Reapers apparently destroyed – Garrus would believe it when he saw it – the politics couldn't be ignored. Now they were holding a _summit _to dole out the blame...

"Joker?" he called aloud. "The way's clear... take us back to Sol."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Right, I'm going to start working on another ME fic besides this, based on the "N7 teams" introduced in multiplayer. I can start writing with my own characters, but if anyone wants theirs included, I'll gladly do that, details forthcoming.**

**Rayven Nightshade: Thanks, all I had when I wrote that was a mental image of Wrex throwing a husk off Tower Bridge (probably means nothing if you're not a Brit, I admit...) :P**

"Vakarian."

"Admiral."

Just an hour after their conversation across the galaxy, Garrus and Admiral Hackett were face to face, meeting for the first time since that fateful order to war had been given. Garrus had often considered that Hackett would make a good turian. Committed, incredibly skilled, and with a natural ability to inspire which he had only seen in two other humans – Anderson, and Shepard himself.

"The other leaders are assembling," Hackett muttered. "Time to figure out just what in the hell we do with the galaxy now..."

"The thought occurs, Admiral, that this is the closest we've got to a Council right now."

"I don't know, Vakarian, they're war leaders, not politicians."

"Human culture's the only one that differentiates between the two. Well, maybe the salarians too, I guess... But look at the turian Primarchs, or the asari matriarchs. Politics and combat prowess go hand in hand, maybe that's how it should be for you too."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is, like it or not, you're humanity's leader. The salarians are doing the same – the military and STG are taking power from the dalatrasses as we speak. The human parliament's gone, so is your prime minister, your councillor" – both of them scowled at the memory of Udina – "and Anderson... That just leaves you, and Shepard, and we both know Shepard hates politics."

"That's what makes him so damn good at it," Hackett grunted. "Same as Anderson – the first mark of brilliance is the absence of ambition. No greed or pride to get in the way, just straight-talking and loyalty."

"Well, the two of you can argue it out over who gets the job later," Garrus murmured. "For now, let's focus on getting everybody back home..."

With that, the two of them nodded to one another, and stepped through the doorway beside them. They emerged into the cavernous operations room, a great hall in the very heart of the Destiny Ascension. Set in the centre was a huge round table, similar to one in the Normandy's War Room, and more than a dozen figures were crowded around it, making for an incredibly strange gathering.

The most prominent figure, as Garrus took his place at the table alongside Hackett, was Urdnot Wrex, huge and fearsome as always, and looking as if he'd only just left the battlefield – one of the asari matriarchs, stood next to him, was glancing with a mixture of awe and disgust at his blood-stained armour. Moving clockwise around the table from Wrex, there were the aforementioned asari matriarchs, three of them in all, then two salarians – both military, not dalatrasses, judging by their armour – one of them a leader, the other a right-hand man. Next to them was a serene-looking drell, presumably representing Kahje – the hanar weren't too great at mingling with other species, it had to be said... After the drell, it was Hackett, and Garrus, and beside them were two of the quarian admirals Garrus recognised, Shala'Raan and Zaal'Koris, stood side-by-side with a geth trooper. The other two admirals, like Tali, were absent, perhaps attending to the Migrant Fleet (or whatever it was called now – the 'Migrant' part didn't really apply any more). Beyond them was Primarch Victus, representing Palaven by himself, and then the last representative, a hulking elcor. Left unrepresented were the volus and batarians. Garrus knew the volus would be represented by the turians, but he could make no such excuse for the batarians. From what Hackett had said, there simply wasn't anyone left to represent them...

"Well..." Hackett muttered, breaking the silence that had hung over the table. "It's hard to know what to say..."

"We won," Wrex grunted. "That's the first thing to say."

"We haven't won yet, Wrex," Primarch Victus interjected. "Without the Crucible, we wiped out the Reaper fleet, but their ground troops are still fighting... Earth's almost won, but Palaven, Thessia... they still need to be liberated."

"It's not _such _a daunting prospect," one of the matriarchs murmured. "According to what we know about the husks, without Reaper control, they should have only animal intelligence. They may even turn on each other. If that's true, they're no longer an army, just an infestation."

"It does beg the question, though," the salarian leader interjected, "why _wasn't _the Crucible used? Admiral?"

All eyes turned to Hackett, except Primarch Victus and Wrex, who shot knowing glances at Garrus – evidently, the two of them knew he was there to represent the Normandy, and were hoping he had something more to tell them...

"I can't answer that," Hackett scowled. "Not yet – because I don't know myself. All I know is, Shepard staggered out of that place telling us to destroy it."

"Enquiringly, according to who?" the elcor rumbled.

"According to me," Garrus replied, matter-of-factly, taking a step forward. Quite suddenly, he felt all eyes turn unnervingly to him. "I was the one who pulled Shepard off the Presidium. He was shot to hell, but he kept insisting we pass on the message to Hackett, said it was a Reaper trap, said we should destroy it..."

"He might have been delirious," the salarian objected. "Or indoctrinated! Why did we trust the word of one ma-"

"Shut it, salarian," came a deep growl. Garrus was taken aback – he'd been about to interject himself, but it seemed Wrex had done it for him. The salarian looked taken aback, indignant, even.

"Excuse me?" he replied. "It's a valid question."

"No, it's not," the krogan muttered, glaring at him. "Any krogan or turian knows it's not" – Garrus and Victus both looked at him in surprise at that comment – "you put him in charge, you have to live with his decision. End of story."

There was a rather awkward silence, as the salarian glared at Wrex, Wrex glared at the salarian, and everyone else looked warily between the two.

"We can discuss this later, once Shepard's here to explain," Hackett said, finally. "But we're not doing this behind his back while he's dying in the med bay."

"Dying?" the salarian murmured, with surprise. Wrex too looked concerned, and it occurred to Garrus for the first time that the other leaders might not have been briefed on Shepard's condition.

"Critical," Garrus nodded, then added, to Wrex and the asari, "so is Dr T'Soni."

"I... well, in that case," stammered the salarian leader. "This discussion can wait. There still remains the matter of refugees, though..."

"Right," Primarch Victus agreed, apparently grateful for the change of topic. "We've all got wounded – they need to be offloaded before we even think about waging a ground war on Palaven."

"Palaven?" one of the asari interrupted, looking rather suspicious. "Thessia needs the help most."

"We'll have to disagree on that, I'm afraid..." the turian leader sighed. "Palaven has been in the fight longest, after Earth, that is."

"Exactly, which means there's less of it left to save. Thessia was only hit recently..."

"But Thessia has a better chance of holding out. Palaven's defences are crippled already, and the population's sparse. If we go to help Thessia, Palaven could be utterly defeated by the time we reach it. Thessia, on the other hand, has a population of natural biotics – now the Reaper fleet's down, handling the husks should be trivial for you."

"Enough!" Hackett said, rather firmly. "We were discussing the refugees?"

"Of course, Admiral," Victus nodded. "If we had worlds to offer, we would, but I'm afraid the hierarchy will have to rely on someone else's charity for the time being..."

"Well you're all welcome to a bit of Tuchanka," Wrex grinned. "If you think you can handle it."

"Oh, we can handle it, Wrex," Garrus chuckled, finding a rare bit of mirth amongst the rather grim discussion. "But I don't think thresher maws and varren are too helpful when you're trying to heal the wounded..."

"Suit yourself," the krogan grunted.

"We would offer Sur'Kesh," the salarian commander volunteered. "But it's not our place to do so. And even if we could persuade Dalatrass Linron to open the planet up, it's overcrowded already. Refugee camps would not stay sustainable for long."

"The same is true of Kahje," the drell nodded, sadly. "The small landmass is barely sufficient to sustain _our_ population, let alone others..."

"Admiral," Garrus muttered, as a solution came to mind, "I know it's not really my place to bargain for humanity..."

"Speak freely, Vakarian," the Admiral nodded. "You're representing Shepard on this one."

"Well, two worlds do come to mind. Human worlds..."

"Oh?"

"Horizon, and Eden Prime. They were both occupied by Cerberus, which means they both escaped any major Reaper assault. Plus, the Collector and geth attacks mean there's a lot of space for temporary colonies."

"A rather morbid benefit," Hackett mused. "But a fair one. I can't promise Horizon, not after what happened at Sanctuary, but I _can _open up Eden Prime."

"We won't even need to commit troops to defending the camps," Garrus added. "Shepard already rallied a militia to fight Cerberus, I daresay they'd agree to defending the wounded for us."

"Well, that's part of the problem sorted... Eden Prime can host wounded humans and asari. The krogan, salarians, hanar and drell are all provided for on their homeworlds..."

"That just leaves us and the volus," Primarch Victus interjected. "Dextro-amino acids, remember?"

"I hadn't forgotten," Hackett muttered, wearily.

"We _could _shelter on Eden Prime," the Primarch continued, "but shipping enough food there to support all our refugees would be almost impossible... We need a dextro world."

"We'll do it," volunteered a filtered voice, immediately. All eyes turned to Zaal'Koris, who was leaning over the table with what Garrus imagined was a resolute expression behind his mask. "Rannoch is barely colonised, we have plenty of space. Even better, the geth are helping us construct colonies – they could have a refugee centre prepared in... how long?" At the latter words, he turned to the geth trooper stood beside him.

"Estimating the number of wounded from turian comms, adding Crucible civilian components..." the geth murmured. "A centre sufficient to support all basic needs... sixty-eight hours, if we begin work as soon as possible."

"You see?" Zaal'Koris nodded, enthusiastically. "It will take longer than that for us to even organise our fleets, let alone get the wounded back to Rannoch. The geth can have a colony ready by the time the turian fleets reach the homeworld, and once Palaven is reclaimed, quarians can inhabit the colony after the refugees leave."

"That is... most humbling, admiral," the Primarch sighed. "The hierarchy will find some way to repay you."

"You already did," Shala'Raan interrupted. "You fought this war..."

"Then it's decided," Hackett nodded. "We return the wounded and the Crucible's civilian staff to Eden Prime or Rannoch, we repair our ships, and then we move on Palaven."

There was a general murmur of assent around the table, and the various parties began to filter away, presumably returning to their own ships to begin organising the survivors.

"Primarch Victus!" Hackett called, over the messy hum of the attendees. "A word, please, on board the Normandy. Wrex, Admiral Raan, could you join us?"

"Admiral, what are you doing?" Garrus muttered, in the admiral's ear.

"Sorting out the matter of councillors," the grizzled old man replied. "The asari and salarians can join the discussion later, but we need to discuss the possibility of seats for the krogan and quarians – and Victus is the only other leader I trust with that right now..."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: It might be word mentioning I've started another ME fic, working title Galaxy At War: N7, following the multiplayer N7 teams. Check my profile if you're interested, the first chapter also has a request for some involvement from readers/reviewers which might be interesting to some.**

**lando24: Thanks on all three counts. As for the not focusing on Shepard, that was something I really fancied doing - to be honest, Shepard's one of the least interesting characters, side effect of being a blank slate I guess...**

"Garrus, when can I get out of this damn bed?" Shepard moaned. The turian had just appeared in the med bay to visit him and Liara, and had immediately been presented with the same protests Kaidan and Chakwas had been enduring for the last two hours.

"As soon as you can stand without me or Kaidan holding you up," the turian groaned, sardonically.

"Got it. Javik!"

"Glad to see your sense of humour's back, Shepard..."

"That would be the meds talking."

"Ah..."

"Seriously, though, Garrus, how did the summit go?"

"What summit, Commander?"

"You think I don't hear things, Garrus? Besides, Joker left the comms on open..."

"_Damn it, Moreau..."_

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So... the summit?"

"Err... right. I'm not sure Hackett wanted me to tell you yet, Commander."

"Then it's a good thing _Hackett_ doesn't give you your orders..."

"Are you pulling rank on me, Shepard?"

"Damn right I am..."

At that, Shepard began to giggle, and broke into a bout of laughter which went on for at least five minutes, to the point where Garrus too began to shake with mirth, the sort of infectious laughter that no-one could really explain or justify. When it finally subsided, and the meds were coursing slightly less vigorously through his veins, Shepard tried to make his face look more serious – Garrus' expression indicated it hadn't worked, but he persisted nonetheless.

"So, what happened?" he repeated.

"Fine..." Garrus sighed. "They mostly just sorted out the refugees – the wounded, and the civilians from the Crucible. The turian fleets are going to Rannoch, the rest to Eden Prime."

"Did they mention anything else about... the Crucible?"

"Why?"

"Just tell me, Garrus... I need to know if they're blaming me," Shepard muttered, wearily.

"Hackett told them to reserve judgement until you had a chance to explain" – Shepard let out a sigh of relief at that – "and most of them agreed."

"Most?"

"One of the salarians had... doubts. He thought you might have been... delirious, indoctrinated, even."

"And what did the others say to that?"

"Well, Wrex tried to rip him in half, how's that for an answer?"

"It'll do nicely... Good to know _someone's _on my side."

"We're _all _on your side, damn it! I thought we established that when we went to Earth!" Garrus growled, frustratedly.

"Anything else?" Shepard asked, ignoring him outright.

"Hackett and Victus are in the War Room."

"_Our _War Room?"

"Yes... don't worry, I told him you weren't in any state to be debriefed yet, he won't bother you."

"I... okay... thanks. Why are they even here?"

"They're with Wrex and Shala'Raan – I guess they needed somewhere secure to talk. As far as I can tell, the krogan and quarians might be getting seats on the Council."

"Good..." Shepard nodded. "They're loyal to us, no issues with dissent like the salarians."

"Let it go, Commander, it was _one _salarian."

"Is that an order, Garrus?"

"Yes, it is... you're not turning into a paranoid wreck while we've got anything to say about it. I'll speak to you later, Commander."


	11. Chapter 11

It was strange, really, the scale on which galaxy-shaping events happened. As he leant against the wall beside the door to the War Room, Garrus was fully aware that the four individuals inside were discussing things that could change galactic politics irrevocably. Part of him wanted to sneak in an eavesdrop, but his more dutiful side told him to wait, and so he waited, patiently guarding the door for at least an hour. He was quite alone – Tali was helping the crew in Engineering, Shepard and Liara were in the med bay, attended by Chakwas and Kaidan, and Joker was at the helm, taking casualty reports from the other ships...

After what seemed like an interminable period of solitude, however, the doors opened with a mechanical whir, and the leaders began to filter out. Wrex came first, lumbering and still bloody.

"Garrus," the krogan nodded. "Where is he?"

Garrus knew who _he _was.

"In the med bay," he sighed. "You might want to clean the blood off, Chakwas'll have a fit..."

Wrex laughed dryly, and stomped off towards the elevator, closely followed by Shala'Raan, who seemed deep in thought, even behind the mask. Primarch Victus emerged a moment later, and paused as he saw Garrus.

"The Admiral guessed you'd be waiting..." he smiled. "He wants to speak with you, Garrus."

"Great..." Garrus muttered, distractedly. There was an almost _guilty _feeling in the back of his mind that he just had to voice. "Primarch, I should be helping you... Shepard's important, we both know that, but it feels wrong, abandoning the fleets right now..."

"Let _me _handle the fleets, Garrus," Victus murmured, with a pitying smile. "You've done more than enough for them already. See to your commander."

With that, the Primarch departed, pacing away across the CIC. Wearily, Garrus rounded the corner, stepped once more through the abandoned security checkpoint, and paced into the now-familiar surroundings of the War Room, still bathed in shallow, crimson light. Hackett was leaning against the central table, staring limply at the now-extinguished display where the Crucible had once hung.

"Admiral," Garrus called, as he paced into the room.

"Vakarian," the Admiral muttered back. He sounded tired... defeated, even. How bad could the talks have been?

"You look rough, sir... How bad was it?"

"The talks? Not bad at all... Krogan and quarian both responded to the offer of a seat well, but even Wrex wasn't forceful about it."

"Any idea who the new councillors will be?"

"Well, as far as Alliance candidates go, it's me or Shepard, and that's a daunting prospect in itself... Asari and salarians, I have no idea... As for your turian councillor, the Primarch mentioned one of your generals... Corinthus?"

"Corinthus is alive?"

"Yeah... wounded, but alive. That's why the Primarch suggested him – he's not fit to fight any more, which means the military isn't losing anyone if he goes to be a diplomat..."

"He's a good man," Garrus nodded. "What about the quarians and krogan?"

"Admiral Raan said the admiralty wants _her _to take the job, but she suggested Zaal'Koris... It might be tough to make either of them leave, they're too committed to Rannoch to leave and live on the Citadel..."

"I might have a suggestion there," the turian added, as a certain energetic little quarian popped into his head. "But it can wait... the krogan?"

"I expected Wrex to volunteer himself, I must admit," Hackett murmured. "But apparently he wants to stay, keep the other clans under control. After all, he's a hero figure now, the best thing he can do is keep the krogan united... He suggested Urdnot Bakara?"

"Eve... makes sense."

"At any rate, the seats look like a sure thing, even without the asari and salarians being involved. No-one has any real reason to oppose the quarians getting a seat, not now the Migrant Fleet has found a home, and once they're aboard, the humans, turians and quarians will all advocate giving the krogan a seat, however much the others might object."

"So you're cutting the asari and the salarians out?"

"The asari, not so much, but they've got no leadership at present to discuss it with. Once the matriarchs have decided who's in charge, we'll include them in the discussion. The salarians... well, yes, I don't want to rely on them backing the krogan. The opposition they put up to the genophage cure shows they haven't given up on their grudges as quickly as you turians have."

"We're good at forgiveness," Garrus chuckled, sardonically.

"I know," Hackett replied, with a weak smile. "Thirty years ago we were fighting you in the skies over Shanxi. Now we're celebrating a victory together."

"It _is _a victory, Admiral. Might not feel like it, but it is... Once the smoke clears, and we're rebuilding, we'll look back on this as the day the future began..."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **

**Phygmalion****: I admit it's a bit of a leap of imagination for Sword to win, hence the Crucible-bomb and a bit of artistic license - it was the only way I could really have written it at the time.**

**Revan Lord of Revenge: The rachni are alive in this playthrough, I just haven't mentioned them yet. As mentioned by Hackett, the batarians are well on their way to extinction (their fleet was wiped out, and the refugees on the Citadel are all presumably dead).**

**jaass20: I debated that quite a lot, but my main thought was that if the dead Reaper in ME2 still maintained husks, they'd survive the death of the Reaper itself...**

* * *

><p>"Easy there, Shepard, baby steps..."<p>

"I wasn't planning on running a marathon, Kaidan..." the commander growled, as he staggered out of bed. It had been at least a day – maybe more, he couldn't tell – since he first awoke in the med bay, and now he was finally able to leave his bed, albeit with the support of one of Joker's crutches. As he staggered upright, he felt a familiar burst of pain through his spine, but stayed up regardless. Chakwas and Kaidan were both watching him apprehensively – if he showed so much as a stumble, they'd probably put him back in bed for another day.

"How do you feel?" Chakwas murmured, from across the room.

"Fine," Shepard grunted. He took his first few tottering steps, to the end of Liara's bed, and peered down at her sadly, then added, "Will she be okay?"

"She's comatose, but stable," the doctor replied. "She'll be fine, Commander..."

"Good, good," he murmured. That news alone made him more calm than he had been since leaving Earth. "Where's Garrus?"

"Where do you think?" Kaidan muttered.

"Right. Forward gun..."

With that, he turned on his heel, and moved slowly off across the med bay, leaning rather heavily on the steel crutch. His legs were fine, but his back was agonising – a jolt of pain along his spinal cord every time he took a step. That said, he was nothing if not determined – or stubborn, some might say – and kept up the effort as he limped around the corner and down the long corridor to the forward battery.

When he finally reached the door and stumbled through it, Garrus was working away at the gun, on the gantry below, and looked up at him in utmost surprise.

"Shepard!" he called. "What are you doing out of the med bay?"

"Limping?"

"Very funny."

"Seriously, though, Garrus... we need to talk. Chakwas and Kaidan didn't even want to let me out of bed, let alone tell me what the heck's going on..."

"Alright," the turian muttered, walking back onto the upper deck and leaning against the calibration computer. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Casualties."

"Cheerful as ever, Shepard..."

"Well, I figure you can cheer me up with the good news afterwards... there is good news, right?"

"More than we expected," Garrus nodded.

"Alright, we'll get to that later," Shepard sighed. "Start with the casualties, I need to hear it."

"We don't have an exact figure, but it's in the hundreds of thousands... Hammer casualties were ninety percent or more, every Sword fleet suffered at least half of their ships destroyed..."

"The turian fleets?" Shepard inquired, with a note of concern.

"Eighty percent losses," Garrus muttered, shaking his head. "Victus is alive, though... that's something."

"Yeah... what about the Alliance? And Earth?" the commander continued, noting with a hint of guilt that he had asked about the turians' fate before that of his own people.

"The Alliance fleets lost sixty percent," replied the turian, matter-of-factly – he evidently thought that would lessen the blow. "As for Earth..." he grinned, "we won. There's a hell of a lot of Reaper corpses down there, but our ground forces are massacring Reaper infantry across the planet."

"What about the Normandy, then?" Shepard persisted, determined to get any bombshells out of the way. "Who did we lose?"

"All of the flight crew made it, Commander..." Garrus murmured, counting off on his fingers. "Kaidan, Liara, Javik, EDI... Tali..."

"Are you and Tali still...?"

"Yes. Now, moving on... the marines are the only ones unaccounted for. They're, ah... presumed dead. Most of Hammer is."

"That includes James... right?"

"I don't think so, Loco..."

Shepard wheeled around as quickly as his crutch would allow. Behind him, Garrus was grinning knowingly, and in front of him, Vega's hulking figure was filling the doorway. The lieutenant had a bright red scar across his cheek, and his arms were all cut and bruised, but he was very much alive, and that was all that mattered – one less loss amongst the devastation.

"You look like hell, James," Shepard laughed – laughed, that was an irony... Just as he had before, he was finding mirth in these most weary moments. A coping mechanism, maybe?

"Take a look in the mirror, Shepard, you look like you just crawled off the battlefield... have you even had a shower?"

"I damn well hope not... If I have, it means _someone _gave me a bed bath, and Liara's unconscious, so..."

"Too much information, Loco," the big marine chuckled, but the smile had dropped from Shepard's face at the thought of Liara. Quickly, he put his worries to the back of his mind, and tried to carry on the conversation.

"How bad was the fighting down there?"

"You were there for the worst of it, Shepard... After we linked up with the krogan it was easy pickings, just sit back and let them go at it... Wrex is a tough son of a bitch, isn't he?"

"It's taken you _this _long to figure that out?" Garrus asked, in mild surprise. "He _is _a krogan."

"Hey, all krogan are tough," James replied, defensively. "But he's something else. You know he was just pickin' husks up and tossing 'em into the river?"

"We heard," the turian nodded. "Wrex is brutal on the battlefield, but he's got some sense at the negotiating table. That's what we need."

"Hey, I'm not criticising the guy," the marine laughed. "He saved my ass more times than I like to admit down there... He's an incredible soldier, I'll give him that."

"Looks like somebody's got a crush on a krogan," Garrus chuckled, sarcastically, and Shepard cracked a smile. "Was it the muscles, or the personality?"

"Neither, smart-ass. What was it about Sparks? The fact you can see your own beautiful reflection?"

"Sparks...? Oh. Damn it, Shepard!"

"I didn't tell him, I swear!"

"Nah," James grunted, with a roguish grin. "He didn't have to. I mean, the forward battery? _Really?_"

"With the utmost respect, _Jimmy_," Garrus growled, playfully. "Go boil your head."

"Good to be back, Scars..."


	13. Chapter 13

"Just tell me straight, doctor, is she going to wake up?"

Three days after being released from the med bay, Shepard was still hobbling around the ship on one of Joker's old crutches, albeit in a slightly better mood – well, most of the time... Here, now, stood at the end of Liara's bed with Dr Chakwas, his mood was anything _but _better.

"For the last time, Commander, she's _stable_. She won't get any worse."

"That's not answering my question. Will she wake up?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Now _that _I don't know."

"I... just take care of her, Karin."

"What did you _expect _me to do, Shepard?"

Wordlessly, Shepard nodded, and limped out of the med bay. Compared to what he had to do next, hearing the life or death news about Liara felt almost easy. Maybe that was why he'd chosen to hear it now...

"Commander," Joker chipped in, over the ship's comms. "The Orizaba's here. Admiral Hackett says he'll meet you in your quarters."

It was a short and reluctant walk up to the captain's quarters, and Shepard's spine was aching by the time he reached them. That sense of discomfort however, was nothing compared to the dread which passed over him as he entered, and saw Admiral Hackett waiting for him, at his desk.

The admiral had his back to Shepard, and to the commander's surprise, he was examining the glass pane above Shepard's terminal, and little miniature suspended in it. He watched as Hackett reached out a bony finger, brushing a few flecks of dust off one of them – with a pang of surprise, he realised it was the obsidian-tinted form of Sovereign...

"Seems a long time ago, doesn't it?" Hackett murmured, hoarsely. He didn't even turn round to face Shepard, but had apparently spotted him reflected in the glass. "Sovereign, the Citadel... even Aratoht."

"It's been a long road," Shepard nodded, wearily.

There was another pregnant pause, before the admiral finally turned to face him.

"Sit down," he muttered.

Gratefully, the commander hobbled over to the bed, abandoned Joker's crutch at the foot of it, and slumped down onto the end, shoulders sagging slightly.

"I've known you were a good man for a long time, commander," Hackett began, as Shepard simply sat and listened. "Two years ago, you ordered my fleet to save the Council, despite everything they did to you... After Aratoht, the first thing you told me was that you tried to save those batarians... the second was that you'd turn yourself in for the crime..."

Their conversation – it was a monologue, really – took another pause. Shepard's head was aching too much to speak, as the admiral continued...

"I don't need to know what happened up there. If you want to, you can tell me, but I don't need to hear it. I don't need to understand, to know you did what was best. I only have one question..."

"What?" the commander mumbled.

"How many would have died?"

"I... don't understand."

"If you'd activated the Crucible. How many would have died then?"

"Not as many as have now. But every man who supported that thing would have sold his soul..."

"Okay, now it's _my_ turn to be confused, commander."

Hackett had told him not to explain. He'd told him that he didn't need to hear it. But there was no other way to make him understand... Slowly, hesitantly, Shepard began to tell him everything. The Illusive Man, the Catalyst, the Reapers' origins, the designated fate of the mass relays...

It took a while. To his credit, Hackett listened the whole time, eventually pulling up a chair from beneath the desk and sitting opposite the commander. Shepard didn't know how long they sat for, playing out every last one of his decisions, weighing up what might have been. Eventually, they reached the same conclusion the Spectre's own adrenaline-soaked mind had reached at the time.

"Mass relays gone... the fleet decimated, the geth destroyed... We would have avoided casualties," Hackett reasoned, "but it might have taken decades to rebuild."

"It would have taken years for the other races to even get home," Shepard nodded, soberly. "And you couldn't have any sort of galactic government, not with those kind of delays."

They sat awkwardly for a few more minutes, before the commander finally voiced the thoughts in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind.

"I killed thousands of men," her groaned, finally. "Again."

The answer he got wasn't the one he expected, that was for sure. They weren't words of consolation, or justification. All the admiral said was:

"Yes, you did. And you'd do it again in a heartbeat."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Right, as I write this, I'm uploading a new chapter(s) to all four of my fics. What's the occasion? Well, from tomorrow, updates are going to be... opportunistic. I have two weeks of pretty damn vital exams coming up, so if I do manage to upload at all, it'll be fitted around exams and last-minute revision, so it probably won't be following the upload schedule. Here's how it stands for each of the four fics:**

**Defiant to the End - Still suffering from writer's block on this one, so updates are unlikely, as I have none in reserve after today's, Chapter 14.**

**Galaxy at War: N7 - I have a couple of chapters in reserve, and another half-written, so I will be uploading occasionally. Don't, however, expect the daily updates that have been maintained since the story's beginning. They'll resume once my exams are over, but until then, expect bigger gaps and fewer uploads.**

**The Cambrai Files - These are incredibly quick to write, and I have four in reserve, so these are the most likely to be uploaded, more as filler content for Galaxy at War than anything else.**

**Reconstruction - Again, I have several chapters in reserve, and my head is swimming with ideas for this one at the moment, so expect a few sporadic updates for Reconstruction, like Galaxy at War.**

**So, to all readers and reviewers - thank you for your support this far, and please, bear with me over the next two weeks. Once they're out of the way, normal service WILL be resumed...**

* * *

><p>It had been two weeks, and everything had changed aboard the Normandy. The ship was hovering in orbit over Eden Prime, playing sentinel to the hosts of refugee ships still flooding in. Back on Earth, the Citadel had been opened up once more, and the survivors on the Wards were being carted back here, or to Rannoch – the two worlds had become sanctuaries to the refugees.<p>

They were sanctuaries to the wounded, too. The fight to clear the last of the Reaper troops from Earth had only just concluded, and the battle for Palaven was still underway. It was the latter that had affected the ship most drastically. Garrus had insisted on going with the turian fleets – reducing poor Tali to an emotional wreck as he did – and had taken both Javik and James with him. The day after, Tali had returned to Rannoch with Shala'Raan, unable to stay aboard the Normandy without him.

That left just a skeleton staff aboard the Normandy. The flight crew, Traynor, Joker, EDI and Chakwas. Kaidan was still here, too – apparently, his injuries had been more serious than he'd let on at the time, and Chakwas had ordered to stay with the ship instead of joining the others in battle.

Shepard was feeling lower than ever. Hackett's feeble attempt at consolation hadn't helped, nor had the countless others. Garrus and Joker had tried to cheer him up, EDI had applied ruthless logic to the matter, and before he left, James had tried to get him drinking, before Chakwas put a stop to _that_. In summary, they had all tried, and they had all failed.

No matter what he did, or said, Shepard kept coming back to the same conclusion. It was the Citadel all over again, _Aratoht _all over again. Hundreds of thousands dead from his decisions, and for what? A clean conscience? His conscience was drowned in too much blood to be clean...

"Commander?" chimed EDI's electronic voice.

"What?" he grunted back, sullenly. He was lying back on the bed, toying with his Phalanx pistol – he had made a habit of keeping the thing beneath his pillow ever since the Collector attack...

"Doctor Chakwas asked me to remind you that you have a check-up in... minus two hours."

"You really can't do sarcasm, EDI."

"Who says I was trying? The point still stands, Commander..."

Utterly ignoring the fact that he was technically talking to the ship, he looked up at the ceiling, imagining the little blue orb – he _still_ didn't think of EDI as that droid out of Joker's dreams – was hovering there.

"Tell her I'm sick," he muttered.

"If you _are_ ill, then surely you need to see the doctor more than ever. I could ask her to make a call to your quarters?"

"You could try, but I have a gun. If you want the doctor to keep on breathing, I'd advise you keep that door locked."

"Very well..."

Silence reigned once more, and that dreadful list began to work away at his mind, the rasping, shadowy whispers tugging at every synapse in his brain.

"_Hey there, Skipper," _Ashley murmured.

"_Had to be me," _Mordin volunteered. _"Someone else might have gotten it wrong."_

"_Prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken," _Thane added, and for some stupid reason, Shepard clasped his hands together...

"_Shepard-Commander," _Legion barked, as the guilt piled up.

"_You did good, son," _Anderson rasped, in some vain attempt to console him. _"You did good. I'm proud of you..."_

Shepard wasn't sure how long the whispers went or for – he wasn't particularly what they _said, _either – he merely knew that by the time their supposed consolations stopped, he was feeling more guilt-stricken than ever, and the pistol in his hands looked like an inviting prospect.

Slowly, cautiously, he examined the thing. He couldn't quite believe he was even _thinking _this, but... it was a way out, wasn't it? He'd killed enough men with this gun to know what it could do... Huh. _He'd killed enough men – _how many was it, exactly? Was he over a million yet? It couldn't have been far off... Aratoht was a third of the way there. Add in all those enemies who had seemed "unimportant" over the years, add in the thousands in the skies over Earth – hell, add in the millions _on _Earth! His sloth had left them to die at the Reaper's hands... claws... whatever.

Yet again, he peered at the pistol's muzzle. It really was inviting – a black void like the one in his own brain, which in an instant could be ignited, and could snuff him out, just like that.

What would the galaxy be losing, anyway? Its most accomplished killer? The so-called greatest hero of the war it would want to forget, the war it would want to relegate to the realm of nightmares and black history? It would be losing _nothing_. Better than that, it would be losing a _relic_, a piece of human wreckage it really didn't need. He was washed-up, broken, and bloodied by a million corpses.

Ponderously, he raised the pistol to his face, examining the muzzle in ever-closer detail. Every muscle in his body was tensing up, primitive instincts trying to stop, but his brain was overriding the lot of them.

"What the _hell _are you doing?" hissed a new voice – not one of the ones in his head, but a fresh, clear voice from across the room.

He peered up, away from the gun barrel, and his jaw dropped. Stood on the opposite of the room, hands on hips, face aghast, was Liara.


End file.
